


the hypnotist and the fortune-teller

by virginianwolfsnake



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Gen, completely bookverse Olivia and other details are also from the books rather than the adaptation, eswell references because I can't write anything without a bit of eswell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virginianwolfsnake/pseuds/virginianwolfsnake
Summary: georgina orwell pays madame lulu a visit.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	the hypnotist and the fortune-teller

Having completed her search around this dirty carnival and found nothing more interesting than some very fresh dill and five oily black olives floating in a jar, a message she is certain is not intended for her, Georgina leans against the drivers side door of her car to light a cigarette. It is a bad habit - one she thought she had quit. But she is beginning to think that there is no such thing as quitting bad habits for good - only suspending them temporarily until they arrive at your door with geraniums and a half-cocked revenge plot. 

An interruption presents itself and blissfully distracts her from that thought. Georgina’s search around the campsite has not been particularly sneaky and she is not shocked to have been discovered by someone - a performer, perhaps, or one of the ticket-sellers, keen to capture any visitor - but she is not wholly expecting the figure she sees when she follows the sound of the footsteps. 

As this year’s resident Madame Lulu comes to a stop near the hood of the car and catches sight of her features in the dim light, her mouth falls open in surprise. 

“I thought you were -”

“Yes,  _ well _ . Surprise, I suppose. Newspaper clippings can only tell you so much.”

If her tone is sharp, it is because she has been traversing various ridiculous locations over the past week and she is exhausted. Skulking around the Headquarters, searching every inch of the abandoned Winnipeg estate, a day spent walking endlessly in the tunnel network trying to find out if the rumoured one leading to the Grotto was ever actually completed. None of these thoroughly banal activities have yielded any kind of result, and this was the last on her list. She has never wanted to see that filthy black car as much in her life.

“It was the crystal ball, please, that tells me about your fate,” Madame Lulu fumbles. “But perhaps it was having, how do you say, an  _ off-day _ . I will make sure that it is knowing of this later, please.”

Georgina pointedly ignores the implication that this means that she can now be found by any of that group of thumb-sucking volunteers who ask for her whereabouts. She has been called on by them relatively rarely as it is and she doesn’t think anyone will care enough to ask. 

“How can Madame Lulu be helping the _ infamous _ Doctor Orwell, please?”

Georgina’s jaw clenches in irritation. “You can’t. I don’t need a _ fortune-teller _ to tell me what I want to know.” She pauses to take another warming drag. “I was in the area.”

The willowy figure in the turban furrows her brow. “In the Hinterlands, please?”

Ever so briefly, Georgina considers letting her guard down and telling the other woman what has really drawn her out here into the wilderness. Reports of Olaf’s death in the Village of Fowl Devotees hadn’t fooled her one bit - deaths are surprisingly easy to fake, and she was beginning to think that cockroach of a man was indestructible besides. But, after that, the trail had gone unsurprisingly rather cold. 

She could tell her that she was seeking revenge; that was on-brand. She wouldn’t have to admit that it was Esmé she wanted to find. She wouldn’t have to admit that she was worried the financial advisor still believed her to be dead - or how guilty she felt for not having rectified that earlier. 

She had hoped to find her here. Though, admittedly, the concept of Esmé Squalor of all people picking her way through the dust in a pair of ridiculous crocodile leather heels and lounging in one of these rusty caravans is a little far-fetched. She has no way of judging whether Esmé knows about the Madame Lulu role, the existence of Caligari Carnival or the immense research library contained within it - one of the many problems with the organisation that connects them all is that nobody has ever been trusted to know everything about it - but Olaf ought to, if he listened  _ at all _ that day in the lighthouse thirty years ago. She supposes expecting him to remember useful information is probably setting an impossibly high bar.

Georgina  _ could _ ask where she can find Esmé. But she believes in herself more than anyone else, and she doesn’t believe this fake fortune-teller with an armoire of silly volunteer reports and copies of the Daily Punctilio could tell her anything she cannot work out herself. Besides that, she has never made any secret of which side she aligns herself with and doubts the answer would be truthful. 

“You wouldn’t tell me anyway,” she states simply. 

The carnival owner regards her strangely with a long, serious look. “Madame Lulu will give people what they want, please, where she is able to.”

Georgina’s eyes narrow. She is not tempted by the invitation, but it seems strange that the disguised volunteer would attempt to lie about her intentions.

“Olivia,” she intones, softly. “Most of us have played Lulu before. I already know that you only tell people what  _ you _ want them to know.”

“No, please,” Madame Lulu responds, still in her foolish accent. “I simply answer their questions.” She clears her throat and grimaces. “The crystal ball does not mind  _ who _ is asking, please, it -”

Georgina scoffs, crushing the end of her cigarette under her heel. “Don’t do the crystal ball routine, Caliban. I am not in the mood.”

“I am not knowing, please, what you mean.”

Georgina shakes her head, bemused. “You do know that Madame Lulu doesn’t  _ require _ an accent, don’t you? Snicket never used one. I rarely agree with that woman’s decisions, but your version of this character is really very grating.”

The ersatz fortune-teller sighs deeply. It is difficult to see for sure in the dark, but Georgina thinks she looks surprisingly different in her circus jewellery and her heavy eyeshadow, turban obscuring her dark blonde hair. Her face itself seems a different shape, her eyes more sunken, as if she has been playing the character a little too long. “It’s difficult to stop,” Olivia admits eventually. “There is no point most days - and then when you do slip out of it, it can be so difficult to get back in.”

The softness of her tone is surprising. Olivia is a volunteer, as much of one as those blasted Snickets and the late Baudelaires, and, as far as Georgina knows, her dedication to their twisted ideals has never wavered. But she does not seem at all concerned to have been recognised by a visitor on the other side of the schism, or at all interested in chasing her away now that she has seen through the ruse. 

“Perhaps you have been in post too long,” the hypnotist needles. “It is a bad sign when you can no longer take off the disguise.”

Olivia shoots her a dark look. “You’re one to talk,” she snaps. “You’ve been in your post about thirty years longer than is ordinary. The hypnotist isn’t _actually_ supposed to hypnotise people - or provide genuine optometry services, for that matter.”

“There were relatively few genuine optometry appointments,” Georgina replies smoothly, as though that negates her argument. “And besides that, yes. I happened to have the skills to create a career out of mine, what of it? Unless you really  _ can _ see the future, I do not think we are in the same situation.”

A short silence follows. Lulu does not seem to have a rebuttal, and instead leans against the boot and regards the paintwork. 

“No visitors lately?” Georgina asks, as casually as she can. She knows the answer already; if they had been here, the place would be in ruins by now. 

“Jacques Snicket,” Olivia answers promptly. “But that must have been a fortnight ago at least. And Count Olaf, just the night before Jacques arrived. Both asking about the whereabouts of the Baudelaires.”

The ease with which she admits this information surprises Georgina. There have been many Madame Lulu’s over her lifetime - and, indeed, she herself had spent a miserable month on the job as part of her training. The purpose of the role has never been to just reveal the whereabouts of your closest associates or your worst enemies to whatever chef’s salad, outright villain or unknowing member of the general public who stumbles into the tent. 

“Both alone?” She doesn’t realise she has clenched her fist until the nails digging into her palm begin to sting. 

“Yes,” Olivia replies, and while Georgina notes that information with regard to her search for Esmé, she finds herself very oddly distracted by this strange new approach to Lulu - seemingly, a fortune-teller who blurts out any information she is asked for at basically any time, to anyone who will listen. Here Olivia swallows, presses her lips together, and toys with the end of her gaudy bracelet. “And both of them left with the same answers.” 

There is no sound for a moment except for the far-off chirps of crickets. “You sent them  _ both _ to the Village of Fowl Devotees?”

“I didn’t  _ send them _ there,” Olivia corrects in a pained whisper. Her voice cracks and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “I just told them that’s where the Baudelaires were.”

It is clear enough that she knows this already, and that she blames herself for it, but Georgina has never been one to spare other people’s feelings. “Jacques Snicket is dead now,” she comments, as though remarking on the weather. No great loss to the world, she thinks, but can’t imagine the Olivia she remembers from fifteen years prior would agree with that sentiment.

“I know,” Olivia says, as one fat tear spills over her cheek, sparkling in the low light on its descent. 

Distantly amused, Georgina stares back at her intently. “So, if I ask you if Lemony Snicket is alive,” she wonders aloud, trying to make sure she understands this ridiculous new approach. “You will simply tell me? If I ask you for Kit Snicket’s recent whereabouts, you’ll tell me? If I ask you where the sugar bowl is, you’ll just  _ tell _ me?”

“Yes - if I know the answer,” Olivia admits sadly. She looks at Georgina calmly, as if telling her the answers to any of those highly important questions wouldn’t be the worst thing she has done in the last month. “There is only so much research can tell you.”

Georgina has half a mind to applaud - that is the first time in all her life that one of these bookish volunteers has admitted that not all the answers in the world can be found if one  _ reads _ hard enough. “And if you don’t know, what do you say?”

A tiny pause. “I’ll try to find out.” She shrugs, as though she knows her answers have not been correct but she doesn’t have the energy to lie. “Or, I’ll make it up. Then I write down the made up answer and use that same one for everybody equally.”

Georgina cannot help but chuckle a little at this revelation. “You  _ must _ know that you are failing in your post,” she says - a little harsh, perhaps, but Olivia does not seem at all surprised to hear it. “And you are primarily disadvantaging your  _ own _ associates. I imagine Jacques Snicket would tell you that in the strongest possible terms, were he still able.”

Olivia flinches, but the hypnotist continues. “You are meant to  _ decide _ who can be trusted, Olivia,” she reminds her, as if speaking to a child. “You lie to your enemies and send them in circles and feed useful insights to your colleagues. It is not complicated.”

Reaching up to dab at one of her eyes with her shiny purple sleeve, Olivia sniffs. “It is more complicated than you think.”

“Our jobs are not so different, Olivia,” she ponders. “We both encourage people to do what  _ we _ want them to do, based on what  _ we _ let them see. It should concern your superiors that you don’t know that.”

At this, Olivia shakes her head and chuckles humourlessly. “No, Georgina,” she corrects. “Nobody can agree on what it is  _ we _ want anymore. That might have been easy enough for you, working alone, but it is not so simple for me.”

She tilts her head up to look at the stars, so pronounced in the sky this far away from the smog and heat of the City. “I have a new approach,” she admits, then turns back to smile faintly at the other woman. “I give people what they want.” 

Georgina folds her arms. “To absolve yourself of having to decide what  _ you  _ want them to have? That’s convenient.” 

The Olivia she first met at Lake Lachrymose all those years ago might have bitten back, but this new version simply shrugs her shoulders. 

“So that’s all you do now?” Georgina asks, still in utter disbelief. “Tell people what they want to hear, no matter who they are or what their intentions may be with the information you provide?”

“That’s not my job,” Olivia responds coolly. “I can’t be responsible for knowing everyone’s intentions. There are supposed to be volunteers, Georgina, and there are supposed to be villains, but I don’t know who’s who anymore - and all I ever see is people who seem like they’re half of one and half of the other.”

Georgina doesn’t have anything to say to that. The world is a complex place, but she has always been able to simplify it in pursuit of her own ends - and those have always been clear to her. She can boil down free will and morality into simple obstacles and then design mechanisms to overcome them in search of her own greater good, without the overbearing influence of a mysterious organisation fretting over the ethics and validity of her methods. It seems the world feels even more complicated to someone without the means, the freedom or the will to do the same. 

“The sun will be rising soon, please,” Madame Lulu says. “Does Doctor Orwell have a question to be asking, please, of the crystal ball?”

Georgina offers her a smile - not warm or friendly, just a courteous smile to recognise a lost associate. Now that she knows the whole sorry story, she supposes there is no harm in giving it a try. “I do, as a matter of fact. But, as we both know the crystal ball is nothing but glass and that the time of day or night makes absolutely no difference, I assume I can ask it now.”

Madame Lulu rolls her eyes. “Suit yourself, please. Madame Lulu may still need to be thinking about the answer in her tent, please, depending on what you are asking.”

Georgina holds up one finger first as a stern warning. “You must  _ promise _ me you will not make up the answer.”

The fortune-teller laughs brightly, all her tears seemingly forgotten as she slips back into her character. “Of course not, please! Do not be of the worrying, Doctor - Madame Lulu will be answering you honestly.”

That is probably the greatest certainty she can hope for, in the circumstances. Steadying herself with a deep breath, Georgina finally asks the question she has been asking herself every morning for the past month. “Where can I find Esmé Squalor?”

A blink of surprise, as though that isn’t the first question she would have expected to be on Georgina Orwell’s lips, but then a serious nod. “That is an easy one, please,” she answers resolutely. “Madame Lulu does not even need to be consulting the ball.”

Georgina is suddenly aware that she is holding her breath. She searches for dishonesty in the other woman’s eyes when she looks up into her own, but cannot find it. 

“You will be finding her if you return to where it is that you came from, Doctor,” Lulu advises. “In the Finite Forest, please, at the abandoned Headquarters.”

The former optometrist feels her own eyes light up. “Really?” she qualifies, leaning close. 

“Absolutely.” The fortune-teller smiles reassuringly. “Madame Lulu is certain of it, please.”

And with that, as Olivia Caliban retreats back to her caravan, Georgina wrenches open the door with a renewed sense of purpose and optimism. It will take her the rest of the night on these country roads to reach Paltryville, and the majority of the next day to trek through the forest to the abandoned headquarters on foot - but she no longer feels as exhausted as she did when she arrived. She will be back for Olivia’s head if she has lied. 


End file.
